I hope we NEVER need any of the skills we learnt over the weekend.

Dean and I went on a two-day offshore medic course. We are now meant to be able to survive at sea until someone rescues us.

We nicknamed our tutor Rambo Medic. He’s an ex combat medic and his face lights up when he talks about people being blown up and tropical diseases that “kill very beautifully”. He was very entertaining and a good teacher.

Here’s some of what we learnt:

• Sea water has many bacteria and other nasties in. This is why cuts/burns get infected very quickly at sea.
• There are lots of other uses for condoms while at sea, like putting one over a needle that’s stuck into someone’s chest to help them breathe.
• When someone is ill at sea, feed them BRAT food (banana, rice, apples, toast).
• Your stomach should gurgle every ten seconds. If it doesn’t, there’s something going on in there.
• Slapping people is good. It can bring them out of shock and calm a hypochondriac (who, accordingly to Rambo Medic, are usually white, middle-class women). In the last course we did with him I made a list of all the groups/ethnicities that he offended, including fat,  skinny, short and tall people.
• The symptoms for every tropical disease are basically the same and start with flu-like symptoms. Helpful.
• Mosquitos love white light and pale blue clothing. Locals use oil on their skin as repellent.
• I still react strongly to caffeine.  On the Sunday I had a coffee at lunch time because I was so exhausted. I’ve had three coffees in 30 years. Lately I’ve been trying to get used to caffeine because it’s an ingredient in some seasickness tablets.  Dean said I became “Hyper Janie” and was “only a bit annoying”. I’ve decided that even if the caffeine does help me get through a night shift, it will keep me awake when it’s over.

Your turn:

If your patient has their stomach contents hanging out, do you: a) Shove the contents back in and bandage the wound; b) leave them out, wrap it against the skin in plastic; or c) cut them off, put them in a plastic bag and give it to the medic when they arrive. Answer: B.

We learnt techniques for clearing airways, CPR, relocating dislocated shoulders, sewing stitches, administering drugs into the butt, replacing fluids etc.

But when it’s a 50 knot storm and there’s just me and Dean, and he’s knocked out with a bone sticking out of his arm and not breathing, and I’m at the wheel hyperventilating because it’s too rough for our autopilot – how the hell am I doing to do CPR, stop the bleed and reverse his hyperthermia?

Rambo Medic said it’s fine to stamp on Dean’s chest as I steer – whatever it takes.

Apparently it’s a grey area whether doing this Offshore Medic course is part of Cat 1. We were definitely going to do it though. But I now even more paranoid about medical stuff while at sea. I’m going to have to add this to my “let it go” list.

Gulp.

We’re leaving Auckland tomorrow.  Hopefully. We’ve been waiting on parts. And Dean has been clever with things like hanging the dinghy from the arch at the back of the boat, fixing the radar he blew up, fixing the water maker, securing the oven top and lots of other things. And I’ve been playing shop, buying storage containers and programming emergency numbers into our satellite phone. More about the sailing boy-girl thing later – it’s a Thesis subject for sure.

First stop, Rangitoto Island, then Waikheke Island, Tiritiri Matangi, Kawau Island and up to Opua.

Still pinching ourselves.

Rambo Medic showing us how to insert a catheter. Only to be done under medical advice!

Me checking my own tongue for sickness.

Dean learning to sew stitches on a pigs trotter (close to human skin).

The pig’s trotter stunk a bit.

My messy stitch on the left, Dean’s perfect stich on the right.

Afterwards!